


Bandaged Hand

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Caring Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is trying to deal with Hallucifer, and Dean isn't buying "I'm fine" anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bandaged Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Louden Swain Writing Challenge on Tumblr.

Sam's insides felt like they'd been torn out and put back in the wrong place. His heart was in his stomach, his stomach in his throat. His intestines felt twisted and knotted, his blood too thick to pump through his veins.

 

He rolled over in his creaky motel bed, eyes landing on Dean's sleeping form on the other bed. He thought he was sleeping, at least, until their eyes met in the darkness.

 

"Can't sleep?" Dean's voice was thick with exhaustion. A pang of guilt ran through Sam, causing his misplaced heart and stomach to clench.

 

"Nightmares... Why aren't you sleeping?" Sam finally spoke in a cracked voice.

 

"Your tossing and turning kept me up."

 

"I'm sorry..." Sam said softly, guilt squeezing his heart again.

 

"No worries. Wanna get on the road?"

 

"You need sleep. Don't worry about me," Sam argued.

 

Dean sat up, tugging his flannel on over his t-shirt. "All I do is worry about you, Sammy. You seein' the Devil still?"

 

"Not right now. The uh, the hand trick works." Sam held up his battered, bandaged hand. "Thank you for showing me."

 

Dean didn't respond to the thank you, only rose from the bed and tugged his boots on. "C'mon, lets hit the road. Maybe find an all-night diner, could you eat?"

 

Sam nodded, rising and pulling his own shirt and jacket on.

 

The drive was silent for a long time, save for the soft rock Dean had insisted they play. Sam's eyes were gritty, and his eyelids heavy, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Hell, Satan, or worse.

 

It wasn't until they'd sat down and were eating in a quiet, out of the way diner, that Sam spoke.

 

"I need a break, Dean."

 

"Whatcha mean?"

 

Sam heaved a sigh, setting his burger down and wiping his hands. He met Dean's emerald gaze across the battered wood table.

 

"I need a break. From - from hunting and Hell and everything. I just -- I got this feeling that if we keep going like this - I'm gonna lose my mind completely."

 

"Sam--"

 

"I know, I know. With the Leviathans and Cas, it's impossible, but Dean, please. What good am I crazy? Or dead?"

 

"You're not gonna die, Sam," If Sam hadn't known Dean so well he would have missed the twinge of fear laced through the frustration in his brother's words.

 

"I almost did," Sam muttered. "I almost ended it to get away from my hallucinations." The words tasted like ash and blood on Sam's tongue, and he could barely meet Dean's horrified gaze after speaking. He hadn't mentioned this to Dean, didn't want to worry him... But he was starting to worry himself.

 

"Sam, when? Why?"

 

"Because I can't do this, Dean! It's too fucking much!" Sam snapped, slapping the table hard enough that Dean jumped a little.

 

"Calm down, Sam. We can--"

 

"We can't fix it! You tried to fix it and look at me! I'm a mess! Part of me thinks I'd be better off in Hell."

 

Dean was out of the booth and had his fists in Sam's shirt before Sam could blink. He hauled Sam up and slammed him into the wall, ignoring the startled gasp from the lone waitress.

 

"Don't you ever, _ever_ talk like that! I was willing to sacrifice everything to save you, you're not gonna die on me again!" He gave Sam a shake for emphasis.

 

"Dean--" Sam's breath was coming in quick pants, his kaleidoscope eyes wide with shock.

 

"No, Sam! Don't even try to defend yourself. You aren't going out that way! How many times have we pulled each other back from the edge, huh? Our whole lives! We've always figured shit out and we will this time too! Come on, Sam. We’ve made it too far to have you give up on me now, huh?”

 

Sam took a shaky breath, curling his big hands over Dean’s wrists. He could feel Dean quivering, but he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

 

“Dean, you’re— You’re holding too tight,” He warned, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

Dean released him immediately, stepping back. “Come on.” He threw money on the table and stalked out.

 

 _“How do you know he won’t hurt you again, Sam? You know he wants to.”_ Sam shuddered at the voice in his ear. He tugged his jacket closer to his chest, even as he felt Lucifer’s cold breath on his neck, as intimate as a lover, and unwanted as a hellhound’s panting.

 

Stalking out of the diner, he jabbed his thumb into the bandage on his palm, the pain nearly flooring him for a moment but it did the trick; Lucifer vanished for the time being.

 

Sam caught Dean’s gaze through the windshield of the Impala and looked down guiltily, dropping his hands to his side.

 

***

 

The second motel room was smaller and more cramped, but it suited its purpose. Dean slumped on his chosen bed, stripping out of his flannel. “Sam, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“You didn’t,” Sam muttered, sitting gingerly on the free bed and slipping a large knife under his pillow.

 

“I did, I could see it in your face. You just scared me bad when you said that. After everything we’ve done, I – I can’t lose you like that.”

 

“I know, Dean. I shouldn’t have said it.”

 

“No! That’s not what I’m saying, Sam,” Dean sighed softly and rubbed his temples. “I don’t want you to hide this stuff from me. You know how much trouble we’ve gotten into hiding crap from each other. I want you to talk to me – that’s why I feel so bad that I scared you. I haven’t seen that look in your eyes directed at a human since – since Dad.”

 

Sam shut his eyes a moment before rising and leaning against the door. “I miss him.”

 

The silence stretched on for a long time. Dean finally sighed and nodded. “Me too. Come on, neither of us are gonna get any sleep. You wanna play cards or watch tv? I’ll even let you pick.” Dean held up the remote, offering what Sam knew was his attempt at a friendly smile, but it just came off as concerned and scared.

 

“Nothin’ but infomercials on at this hour, Dean. Get some sleep, I’ll be okay.”

 

Dean set the remote down, his face drooping a little. He stretched out in bed and Sam turned the light off.

 

In the haze of the darkness, Dean was able to watch Sam move across the room, taking a seat at the rickety table near the window. There was some movement, and though Dean couldn’t exactly make it out, he could guess what Sam was doing: rubbing that cut on his hand over and over, urging more blood, more pain.

 

The clock ticked away the minutes, Dean watched Sam, and Sam stared at the table, rubbing his palm. When it hit four am, Dean had had enough.

 

He sat up and walked over to the table, setting his hands over Sam’s and prying them apart. Crouching, he gripped Sam’s wrists until Sam met his gaze. “Talk to me.”

 

“You hate talking,” Sam muttered, trying unsuccessfully to pull his wrists back. Dean rose, tugging the chair over with his foot and sitting in front of Sam, still holding onto him.

 

“I do. But I keep screwing things up, and I wanna get it right. I wanna fix this – you know as well as I do that we haven’t been good since I went to Hell, and things keep getting worse. I wanna make it right between us.”

 

“You sound like a bad romance novel,” Sam whispered without humor. Dean snorted and shoved his hands, rising and turning on the light. He walked away from Sam and dug in his bag.

 

That all too familiar tightening in Sam’s gut came back; he’d offended Dean, or pissed him off in some other way. Par for the course, lately, it seemed. For the past three years everything Sam tried to do was wrong – he screwed up in some way or another, and it made him sick knowing how badly it hurt Dean. Dean was right; their brotherhood was fragmented, pieces of it probably broken beyond repair.

 

“ _Demon blood, huh, Sammy? Remember how Dean looked at you. How damn disappointed he was in you.”_

 

Sam gritted his teeth, not bothering to look over at the Devil, who’d seated himself on Sam’s bed.

 

“ _Or, this one’s great – Ruby. The lovely demon who turned you dark. You chose her over your brother, bet that made him feel great.”_

 

Sam’s eyes slipped shut. He rubbed over the blood-soaked bandage on his palm, but didn’t press down. No, he deserved this talk.

 

 _“Oh! My personal favorite… Failing to fight off the Devil. Had you done your job, been_ strong enough _, Dean wouldn’t have gotten so hurt. You coulda jumped in the pit with me the first time and it woulda been over. But no, you were too_ weak _. The little freak was too pathetic to fend off the Devil. You still remember all those punches. All the pain you caused Dean while I was riding your skin. And when you were soulless… The cruel things you did. You deserve Hell, Sammy Winchester. And when you do finally realize that, I’ll be waiting for you.”_

 

Dean dropped a roll of bandages onto the table, startling Sam.

 

“You seein’ him?” Sam hesitated, but nodded.

 

“What’s he saying?”

 

“Nothin’.”

 

Dean sighed and sat down in front of Sam again, taking his hand gently. He unwrapped the blood covered bandages, cleaning the stitches. “You’re lying.”

 

“I messed everything up. You were always trying to help, and I messed it up… I wish—I wish Dad woulda finished the job when he was alive.”

 

“Sam, don’t you say that,” Dean warned.

 

“It’s true! Damnit, Dean, I – I mess everything up. You don’t need to fix anything, I do. I feel like whatever I do, it’s not enough. Not enough for you, or for Dad’s memory, or the angels, or even myself.”

 

Dean said nothing, cleaning the wound. He set his thumb in the center of Sam’s palm.

 

“Do you still see him?” He finally asked. Sam dared a glance at the bed, where Lucifer was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

 

_“I’m waiting Sam. It’d be so easy. That knife right there by Dean’s hand. Or the gun in his waistband. You know it’d make things easier on him.”_

 

Sam clamped his jaw shut. Dean’s thumb dug into the cut, drawing fresh blood around the curve of his nail. Teeth grinding, Sam forced himself to meet Dean’s gaze.

 

“What’s he sayin’, Sammy?”

 

“Just… Reminding me of all the things I’ve done wrong.”

 

“Like what?” Dean asked, cleaning up Sam’s hand once more and fixing the stitches before rewrapping it.

 

“I just do everything wrong. I – I – I get the wrong soap or set the thermostat too high or, or say the wrong thing, I just can’t do anything right for you, Dean. I try, I try to be the little brother I used to be but all I am is the freak you’re disappointed in.”

 

Dean scowled. “Sammy, you – you saved the world, man. Don’t you remember?”

 

“I fixed what I screwed up in the first place.”

 

“You _saved the damn world_ , Sam. Doesn’t matter how Lucifer got out or what happened in the past, you still saved the world. That’s more than I could do.”

 

Sam looked down at the white bandage on his hand, running his thumb over it gently. “It just feels like this isn’t gonna end. I’m gonna lose control or Lucifer is gonna win. It feels like the more I ignore him, the stronger he gets.”

 

“Then you gotta find something else to stop it, Sam. I’ll help you with that if I can. Look, you’re my brother, and I can’t lose you man.”

 

Sam offered a half smile, knowing it wasn’t much but hoping it’d calm Dean’s nerves, at least a little.

 

“Come on, let’s just hang out, like when we were kids. I’ll go grab some junk food and we can play cards or something.”

 

“Just hang out? Waiting for Dad to come home?” Sam joked, his smile finally reaching his eyes a bit.

 

“Yeah, come on.” He punched Sam in the arm and stood, grabbing his coat and keys. “Just relax here, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

“I think I can manage.”

 

Dean gave Sam a long look before slipping out of the room.

 

***

 

When Dean returned, Sam was stretched out on his bed, flipping absentmindedly through channels.

 

“Hey, find anything good?” Dean asked, flipping on the light and dropping a bag of candy bars on Sam’s stomach.

 

“Infomercials. If you need any info on erectile dysfunction or hair loss, I’m your man.”

 

“Don’t think I’ll have to worry about that – if I start losing my hair I’ll just cut yours. Scoot.” Dean shoved Sam’s legs over and sat on the bed, digging a pack of cards out of his pocket.

 

Sam sat up, crossing his legs and digging in the bag. He smiled inwardly – Dean had grabbed him some of his favorite candies and granola bars, even though he always complained about the smell of the granola.

 

“Dude, you know you didn’t have to do this.”

 

“Do what?”

 

Sam withdrew one of the bars and held it up so Dean could see. Dean shrugged.

 

“A guy can’t do something nice for his pain in the ass little brother? Come on, I remember you love those smelly things. Texas Hold ‘Em?”

 

Sam nodded, unwrapping the bar and taking a bite. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lucifer sitting at the table, carving something into the wood with a knife. Ignoring it, Sam watched Dean shuffle the deck, not missing the cards that got slipped into Dean’s shirt sleeve but saying nothing.

 

They played until Sam could barely keep his eyes open. Dean packed up the cards – he’d won every round so far of course.

 

“Come on, sleep Sasquatch.” Dean pushed him into a lying position and tugged the blanket over him before flipping off the light and crawling into his own bed.

 

Sam remained awake for a few more minutes, staring at the darkened ceiling. He was a mess and he knew it, but he had Dean’s help. They were stronger with each other, three decades had proven that. Together, they might be able to get it right.

 

He touched the bandage on is hand, pressing just hard enough to cause a small twinge of pain. Yeah, together they could make it right.


End file.
